Clare Paniccia
I Think I Just Swiped Left on My Future Husband
Between images, that smile-sick biography, I conjure our progeny
hatching like fish. Our son, indulgent in his milk teeth: he has
my lips, your septum piercing. I wonder if we will argue about
baptismal fonts, the holy waters filled with carp, bluegill, bait
& tackle. Your brother’s brookie nets, vacation costs. Dozens
of dinner plans, cancelled. Already, I can tell you will not
understand my tendency to break down lavishly—at our
wedding, drunk on Manischewitz, I will kiss all the other
men out of spite. Something to do with destruction & labrusca
grapes, the purple stains on your chin. Even from this distance
setting I am watching you & your Colt 45 wade into Little River
like you own the place. Broad with your belted knife & wide
eyes—tell me all the small confessions you’ve whispered lately.
When was the last time you phoned your mother? I am trying
to handle your family vision: the hunting ground, the dog,
the sharp corners. What I mean is: I am building this narrative
flash-full of possibility so that when I leave you, you can’t say
I didn’t try.
Clare Paniccia is a PhD candidate at Oklahoma State University, where she also works as an Associate Editor of the Cimarron Review. Her poetry has been featured in or is forthcoming from Ninth Letter, Mid-American Review, Indiana Review, Best New Poets, and elsewhere.
Return to March 2020 Edition
Between images, that smile-sick biography, I conjure our progeny
hatching like fish. Our son, indulgent in his milk teeth: he has
my lips, your septum piercing. I wonder if we will argue about
baptismal fonts, the holy waters filled with carp, bluegill, bait
& tackle. Your brother’s brookie nets, vacation costs. Dozens
of dinner plans, cancelled. Already, I can tell you will not
understand my tendency to break down lavishly—at our
wedding, drunk on Manischewitz, I will kiss all the other
men out of spite. Something to do with destruction & labrusca
grapes, the purple stains on your chin. Even from this distance
setting I am watching you & your Colt 45 wade into Little River
like you own the place. Broad with your belted knife & wide
eyes—tell me all the small confessions you’ve whispered lately.
When was the last time you phoned your mother? I am trying
to handle your family vision: the hunting ground, the dog,
the sharp corners. What I mean is: I am building this narrative
flash-full of possibility so that when I leave you, you can’t say
I didn’t try.
Clare Paniccia is a PhD candidate at Oklahoma State University, where she also works as an Associate Editor of the Cimarron Review. Her poetry has been featured in or is forthcoming from Ninth Letter, Mid-American Review, Indiana Review, Best New Poets, and elsewhere.
Return to March 2020 Edition